


Get Away From It All

by curious_eye



Category: Space Force (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, i got carried away, this was meant to be a drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24744196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curious_eye/pseuds/curious_eye
Summary: Based on a prompt:Tony is faking his confidence and then has a panic/anxiety attack in front of Naird and Mallory (from Thelover123)
Relationships: Dr. Adrian Mallory & F. Tony Scarapiducci, General Mark R. Naird & Dr. Adrian Mallory, General Mark R. Naird & F. Tony Scarapiducci
Comments: 41
Kudos: 71





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thelover123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thelover123/gifts).



> Title is from Kokomo (because of course it had to be)

“I’m sorry to labour the point but is it really necessary to include Fuck Tony in this discussion,” Mallory asked, going to no effort to conceal his impatience as he leant back in one of the two chairs in front of Naird’s desk. He had rested the fingertips of each hand against one another and tapped them together to the same tempo as the ticking clock on the back wall.

“He’s on his way,” Mark placated him half-heartedly, “And yes, considering that this is about to be a PR nightmare we should probably consult our social media director.”

“I suppose it would justify our hiring of him,” Adrian hummed, still not content to drop the point, “Only for the first time, mind you.” Naird sighed to himself and took a seat at the desk, resting his elbows on the table and weighing up his chances of success if he continued this particular argument.

“I know he’s a pain,” he began, feeling like he was a broken record on repeat. He’d learnt to avoid these meetings between the three of them once he’d spent one too many of them beforehand trying to convince Mallory not to strangle Tony.

“Don’t feel the need to continue,” Adrian interjected, every word dripping with condescension. Mark closed his eyes, exhaling heavily again and pondering the doctor’s need to be so down spirited all of the time. He knew, deep down, that Adrian was more than capable of tolerating Fuck Tony’s company and that he certainly didn’t harbour the hatred that you’d be forgiven for assuming due to his usual remarks.

“I know he’s a pain,” he repeated in preference to sharing this particular observation, “But the results of the work he’s been doing are undeniable. And you met the other candidates - we’d be worse off if we’d gone with any of them.”

“Is that meant to be a comforting revelation?” Adrian asked drily to which Mark could only sigh once more.

The office door opening without warning fortunately saved him from having to engage in another bout of vocal warfare. Unfortunately, it heralded the entrance of Fuck Tony which was likely to only escalate the passive-aggression of one particular scientist.

“General,” Fuck Tony greeted, his right hand loosely mocking a salute as he turned to the other occupied seat. “Doctor Mallory! Great to see you.”

“The pleasure’s all yours,” Adrian responded monotonously despite the amused smirk that Naird caught growing on his face as he looked away.

Fuck Tony sat down, undeterred by Mallory’s frostiness as per usual. As he’d once said to Naird under the spell of blissful ignorance, he usually put Adrian’s mood down to the time of day they tended to meet at. Old men are cranky in the early morning, according to him.

“Right, let’s get started,” Naird said, shuffling some unrelated papers on his desk to feel more prepared and then tackling their problem head on. “The branch has come under fire from POTUS himself on a late night twitter rant. SecDef wants us to put in place some damage limitation strategies.”

“In English?” Tony interjected, “You lost me after twitter.” Mallory blew a long breath out of pursed lips.

“Our own president has criticised his own decision to militarise space and thus has potentially jeopardised the future of Space Force,” he explained, looking to Mark for clarification, “Were this to blow up we would be looking at recombination with the Air Force – downscaling, budget cuts, a potential loss of staff due to existing Air Force members taking over our own responsibilities.”

“Obviously at the authority level, I would no longer be deemed necessary,” Naird picked up the explanation gravely, before nodding at Mallory, “Doctor Mallory and possibly his entire science division could lose their jobs due to the larger, better funded department in the Air Force. Space men would be largely transferred to air men or let go entirely.”

“The branch would quietly be dissolved into the Air Force until it was no longer doing anything at all,” Mallory continued, “The base would no longer exist so any work on the base would also no longer exist.”

“I thought you were against Star Wars becoming a real-life thing,” Fuck Tony said, raising an eyebrow in the doctor’s direction, “Why are you concerned?”

“I think we are a long way off from Star Wars given the lack of extraterrestrial life and with long-haul space travel capabilities being as non-existent as they are,” the older man retorted, conceding to answer the question when Naird frowned pointedly at him. “The existence of Space Force is at least allowing us to conduct a wider range of funded science experiments beyond the atmosphere and to control the slow end of peace in space. Whilst I am opposed to this constant obsession with training soldiers for moon-based warfare, I can’t argue with the benefits to research that this branch is affording us.”

“Well with that enthusiasm I’m sure we have nothing to worry about,” Tony responded, deadpan. He glanced back at the general questioningly. “I’m still not really following the reason why I’m suddenly allowed to be in the interesting meetings.”

“POTUS has a tendency to pay more attention to what he sees on twitter, rather than listening to his advisors,” Mark replied, “We need to you to lead the efforts to prove the branch is doing a good job. A showcase of the research and training, anything that might discredit his criticisms.”

“I’m sorry, you want me to lead-” Tony trailed off, uncharacteristically mid-sentence, “I’m coordinating this? You don’t let me send a single tweet once a day without checking and editing it until it looks nothing like what I suggested.” Next to him, Mallory nodded as if this comment summed up his opinion on the matter as well.

“Well, there will still be an approval process for the ideas you come up with,” Naird reasoned, narrowing his eyes slightly at Tony’s fidgeting hands, watching his fingers tug at his shirt collar absentmindedly. “But overall, this is just going to be an accelerated roll-out of the public communications plan you’ve been drafting for the last couple of weeks.”

“All of it?” Tony asked, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead and leg bouncing up and down restlessly.

“Is that going to be a problem?” Naird queried, leaning forwards and trying not to give away his own attempts to scrutinise the man who seemed suddenly more subdued.

“No, no problem,” Tony reassured unconvincingly, “The recruitment posters were almost ready so it’s just the video that needs making. And then there’s the preliminary climate data reports that need formatting and then they can be published. And then-”

“It doesn’t all need to happen today,” Mark interjected, feeling more justified in his concern when even Adrian made the effort to drop the permanent mask of disinterest from his face. Tony forced out a short laugh and shook his head.

“Good,” he said, pausing to exhale, “Because it’s not all going to be ready.” Another pause, this time punctuated by a poorly hidden, shallow inhalation. “Not today, anyway. Not to say that it won’t all be great – because it will be.” His hands had moved to the arms of the chair, holding them tightly enough for his grip to be betrayed by the tension in his fingers.

“We only need short-term solutions before those bigger projects are ready,” Naird said, hoping to provide some reassurance without going as far as having to say it out loud. Tony still looked like a deer in the headlights, one hand flitting back up to his collar and fiddling with it once more.

“I’ll get – get started on those then,” Tony replied, a quiver barely audible in his voice. Mark attempted to share a glance with Adrian, worried when the other man was closely watching the youngest in the room.

“Okay, keep me updated,” he instructed, still feeling like the easiest solution to this problem was to let it walk out of the door. He knew that made him a less competent boss but, as those who criticised soldiers who expressed emotions might argue, maybe a more traditional general.

Tony didn’t get far. He stood up on unsteady legs and went to take a step, his complexion suddenly noticeably pale. Adrian was on his feet before Tony’s failed him, guiding the other man back into his chair as accelerated breathing filled the quiet in the room.

“Okay, Tony. Any feelings of nausea?” Adrian asked pressingly to no response. Mark had stood up, shifting his weight between each foot and feeling like he should step in to help. After all, Fuck Tony was arguably experiencing the same panic that he was familiar with, the panic that he had dealt with in that very office. “Tony? Tony!” Adrian was still unable to get a response and, in typical fashion, rested a hand on Tony’s back and pushed his head between his legs with a low mutter. “Better safe than sorry, I suppose.”

“Can’t - can’t breathe,” Tony managed to force out, his words no more than a manipulation of the air that was constantly wheezing in and out of his mouth. Adrian finally looked at Mark, looking surprisingly lost.

“Christ, Adrian! You’re a doctor!” Naird whisper-shouted, only feeling riled up by the other man’s wide-eyed disbelief. He took this as his cue to leave the safety of his side of the desk, gently nudging Adrian to one side and kneeling in front of Tony’s chair and glancing up at the scientist. “Erin had one of these at school once, apparently.” He wasn’t quite ready to admit to his own infrequent bouts of panic.

He turned back to Tony whose head had lifted from the position Mallory had held him in, eyes clenched shut, his brow furrowed as if he was in pain. Mark pushed him further upright, quickly loosening his tie and the top button of his shirt. Tony’s eyes fixed on him as he did this, the panic translating to the wide, dilated pupils Mark was met by.

“You’re okay, Tony. You know you can still breathe, it’s just in your head,” he said gently, finding it hard to tell if the eyes that fixed on him were really seeing what was in front of them. “Listen for your own heartbeat. It’s too fast right now so you need to slow it down. Try and take some deep breaths.”

“Can’t.” Tony’s voice was barely audible, his eyes closing when he said it as if he could kid himself that the other two men didn’t hear the weakness that way. 

“Any ideas?” Mark turned to Adrian who continued to hover nearby.

“I’m a scientist at a space research facility,” Adrian replied, shrugging his shoulders, “Just to remind you, I have no medical training.”

“I’m open to non-medical suggestions,” Mark retorted, dropping the heat from his voice as soon as it tried to get out. This was the worst time for the two of them to have an argument. Tony was still getting by on the air from tiny, rapid inhalations. He knew there was only so long that he could go on being incompetent and hoping that Adrian would step in before he’d be forced to potentially expose his own familiarity with Tony’s situation. In fact, they had arguably reached that point some minutes ago so he finally conceded. “Tony, try and count to four before you breathe out.”

The next breath was microscopically longer, although the effort of sustaining it made Tony’s grip on the arms of the chair clench even tighter. His exhalation was thready and almost immediately cut off by a reflexive inhalation.

“Count to four before you breathe in as well,” Naird corrected carefully, “Try and pay attention to how that slows your heart back down.” He pointedly ignored the eyes he could feel on his back, sensing the shift into surprise as he proved himself to be unexpectedly competent at something that wasn’t entirely war-based.

It slowly started to work. Tony slumped against the back of the chair, still far from normal but regaining some control of his own body and seeming to fall into a learned pattern of breaths of his own. He still seemed beyond embarrassment, not registering Naird’s kneeled position in front of him and seeming comforted rather than humiliated by the hand that had made its way onto his knee, absentmindedly squeezing on an inhalation and releasing on an exhalation.

“Have you had anything like this before?” Naird asked quietly once he expected to receive an answer that didn’t consist solely of a wide eyed stare. This shook Tony out of his stupor, his nod in reply hesitant. “Several times? Whilst at work?”

“A few,” Tony said, still sounding a little breathless although the distraction seemed to work in his favour, “Not normally in front of people.”

“Panic is a normal response to have to a variety of situations, Tony. It’s not something to be ashamed of,” Adrian spoke up, uncharacteristically soft but proving that he knew what was happening even if he didn’t understand how to manage it. “In fact, a large proportion of the adult population in America have reported experiencing similar symptoms under high-stress environments.”

“It kind of messes with the whole impression of confidence,” Tony muttered, his eyes determinedly avoiding both of them, “That’s day one of any public relations course: you’re only getting taken seriously if-”

“You go to the bathroom to hyperventilate?” Adrian finished drily, levelling a stare at Tony with a mix of sympathy and impatience. “I’m not going to give you the ego boost of saying you’re particularly clever but I think you’re intelligent enough to know that’s terrible advice.”

“It’s got me this far, hasn’t it?” Tony argued back feebly, his point rather let down by the fragility in his tone. Naird shared a look with Adrian, rocking back onto his heels to give Tony some space.

“What we’re asking you to do is going to be a team effort, even if you’re the one coming up with ideas,” Adrian continued, his patience surprisingly not wearing thin at the prospect of explaining the same thing twice.

“And if it didn’t work, what happened next wouldn’t be on you,” Mark assured, more content when Tony managed to roll his eyes.

“I know that,” the younger man muttered, his eyes stopping their rapid fire flickering between the other two and fixing on a point on the wall behind them. 

“Really?” Naird asked carefully, knowing that it was only right that he shared something he’d come to realise which started to keep the worrying at bay. Even if the thought of doing so brought it back to a lesser extent. “You know, the world doesn’t end when you make the wrong call. With the exception of nuclear bombs, I suppose. But nothing you do right now is going to so drastically destroy everything around you that it deserves this level of panic.”

“Tell that to my stupid head,” Tony mumbled, bouncing one foot against the ground and then glowering at it frustratedly. Mark began to feel sorry for the younger man who fidgeted in his seat like a child caught doing something bad by his parents.

“Well, now that we’ve established that this is something that happens sometimes, I want you to know that my door is always open,” Naird said carefully, still afraid of making the other man close himself off once more but choosing to draw the conversation to a temporary end, “Not that my door being closed has ever stopped you before but, you know, the view’s not too bad if you ever need to take a minute.”

“Okay,” Tony said, standing up and almost frowning at Adrian’s wary eyes following his movements. For a moment it seemed that he had nothing further to say, until his eyes dragged themselves up to Mark’s. “Thanks.”

“Keep me updated on your progress,” Mark replied, acknowledging his gratitude with a simple nod. Tony returned the gesture, slipping out of the room with less drama than normal. The closing door just cut off the beginnings of a smart comment aimed at Brad. Adrian smirked wryly at the sound.

“He’ll be alright,” he muttered, almost to himself. Mark busied himself, re-stacking those papers that had never been relevant to the meeting. Adrian’s attention was now solely dedicated to watching him, the weight of his eyes palpable.

“Yes, Adrian?” He asked wearily. He could almost hear the doctor’s brain formulating a sentence.

“You handled that well,” Adrian said eventually, an unusually genuine sincerity in his voice.

“All part of the job,” Mark brushed him off lightly, his eyes darting up from the now cleared desk, instantly trapped in the gentle judgement that had been previously aimed at his bowed head.

“If you say so,” Adrian seemed to respect his preference not to discuss it further, allowing him to lead the way out and back onto base.

“I suppose it goes without saying but let’s keep that all between us,” Naird said stiffly, “For Tony’s sake.” The corner of Adrian’s mouth twitched upwards as they reached the point where their paths would deviate. He came to a stop in the quiet hallway, rubbing his lips together as he again thought carefully about what to say.

“I suppose the proverbial door is always open to other people,” he said eventually, more cryptic than Mark was expecting. “Perhaps to those wanting to help? Or just to lend an ear?” His roundabout way of saying things made Mark smile, the contents of his words only causing the expression to grow.

“I’ll let you know.”


	2. Chapter 2

Had Brad been outside?

If his spiralling, traitorous brain wasn’t immediately springing another paranoid thought on him, Tony would probably have cared about that. Because he hadn’t looked alright whilst he was walking to the office. He didn’t need a mirror to know that (and his hands had been shaking too much to check his reflection in his phone screen).

It was stupid. All of it was so stupid.

And he was only dragging out the embarrassment, turning up in the general’s office like this. He assumed it was empty; his brain had too much to deal with to be providing him with the simple things like vision. He might as well have been anywhere but there was no use thinking like that because then he’d worry his reliable autopilot had failed him. Maybe he was having a breakdown in the middle of the lab or, worse, the control room. Imagine it happening in the gym (that didn’t seem likely, he’d never even entered the place).

He could only be grateful that it wasn’t this bad when Mallory and Naird had been there to see it. 

He was detached at this point, too locked in a tornado of overthinking to concern himself with the simple problem of oxygen. That didn’t stop him gasping, likely didn’t stop the sharp pangs of pain in his chest, but he didn’t feel them. He couldn’t even hear it, his ears filling with those weird echoes, kind of like the sonic booms Chan had showed him videos of once when both of them were bored. Was the distraction helping yet? Probably not.

Even feeling like he was floating above himself didn’t entirely stop the weight that settled over his hunched shoulders. The pressure was a new sensation to concentrate on, his insecurities clearly deciding that mental torment wasn’t enough and manifesting as a physical force. Any added complication for his breathing seemed negligible; there could have been someone sitting on his chest and it probably wouldn’t have got much harder.

_What was it he said? Hold for four, out and in? Hold for four – no. Hold for four, breathe in. Hold for four, breathe out._

Something dripped down the side of his face. He wasn’t crying – he might have assumed he was if he’d been completely numb. Unfortunately he’d held on enough to be aware of the trickle moving down alongside his hair line. Sweat, then. 

The insecurities fled his shoulders and he floated untethered like an abandoned helium balloon. The sudden release made his stomach do something funny, a heat settling on his forehead, the sudden difference in temperature making him realise he was shuddering. Awareness was good, right? It meant he was getting better; that his body was so physically desperate for the normal volume of air to enter his lungs that it got over whatever it was that had got him in this state.

He hadn’t noticed how dark it was. Had he been spaced out for that long? Surely Naird would have been in his office at some point before the end of the day. Maybe he’d taken one look and decided to leave that problem to sort itself out.

_Why isn’t it working without Naird?_

At least when he couldn’t see, he could hear a little more. Hear his breathing, that was. Anything else that might have been there was lost to the cacophony of choking, flailing, desperate, _anything_.

The weight was back, making his legs turn to lead, periodically crushing and then letting him float for a moment. The pattern was regular, too methodical for him not to follow. A breath in. A breath out. A breath in. A breath out.

Why wasn’t the weight going away? He could hear his breathing evening out, waiting on his heart to slowly catch up. The sonic booms were back, reliably beating out the tattoo of his pulse against his ear drums. At least the room felt like it existed once more, even if it was shrouded in darkness. He couldn’t help but feel frustrated.

_Come on. You’re alright now._

There was a tension around his eyes that he hadn’t noticed before. The skin pulled tightly, screwed up and, oh, that explained it. Not the middle of the night. He’d just got his eyes closed.

He opened them experimentally, not prepared to overwhelm himself with light and colour when he couldn’t deal with what was already getting past his firewall. The reliable onset of pressure against his legs faltered and he focused there, as if the lead would be visible.

It wasn’t. But hands that weren’t his own were.

* * *

Mallory often wondered what Brad was doing when he wasn’t sat being generally ineffective outside of Naird’s office. He was probably at the gym, knowing what most of the soldiers were like. Did they have no other responsibilities?

He wasn’t going to complain about the other man’s absence, particularly when it meant that bodyguard, Duncan wouldn’t be blocking the door. It seemed that demanding ID cards was only important when the soldier had someone to chat to. Otherwise, both layers of security seemed to evaporate together.

He was less pleased to find the general’s desk unoccupied, regrettably beginning to plan a circuit of the base in an attempt to track him down. There were so many distractions across the complex however; it was difficult to deduce which would be most alluring to the unpredictable Naird.

He hadn’t noticed the hunched figure sitting on the sofas in front of the window. He may not have registered the presence at all if a shallow breath hadn’t shocked him out of his stupor. It wasn’t Naird; even in the midst of a crisis the military man maintained a picture-perfect posture.

It had been a couple of months since Tony’s panic attack in front of the two of them. Amongst the general chaos of the day to day operations of a military base, Adrian had almost forgotten Mark’s offer of a quiet place to the other man. Although so much time had passed, both he and Mark had mutually agreed that Tony seemed reluctant to take advantage of it.

Not that he wasn’t stressed out sometimes. Adrian noticed patterns and; whilst Tony was right, he did mask it well; you didn’t study animal or human behaviour for as long as Mallory had without developing an eye for the subtleties. Tells like a finger running between his collar and neck or loosening the knot in his tie absentmindedly accompanied with an uncanny ability to both fill a room with mindless nonsense but also fade into the background and become invisible. The contrast was too striking to miss – even Mark had shared a glance with Adrian one or two times when Tony went AWOL in the middle of a high-pressure situation. Mallory knew the general had tried to look for him after the fact, coming up with nothing, never before Tony was ready to be found.

But he was there now which meant one of two things. One, he hadn’t had a reason to use the office before this (unlikely, given the evidence to the contrary) or two, there was something different this time. Adrian was hesitant; surely it could only be that it was worse than normal, that Tony hadn’t had any other solution.

His hands were clenched, the skin beneath his gripping fingers an unnatural hue. They shook in his lap, unseen by his eyes which stared ahead, angled down to focus on the carpeted floor. It was striking how physically ill he looked, how every period of time without breath seemed like it should be agony but provoked no response.

“Tony?” Adrian was pessimistic of getting a direct reply, waiting for the assertion that he couldn’t breathe. The wait was growing too long, the passage of time marked by pained breaths. He sat down, far enough away to give the other man some space. Even the dip of the sofa had no effect.

“Tony?” Adrian extended his hand towards the other man, hovering above his shoulder and then resting it there, increasing the pressure as much as he dared and shaking very slightly. No response.

Doctor Mallory wasn’t one to fail to get a grip of a situation. After all, he was a competent scientist and respected researcher. He ran experiments that were dedicated to pairing complementary personalities together. He understood the way people worked.

Doctor Mallory wasn’t one to perform worse than Mark Naird under stressful conditions. After all, he was petty as hell, driven by a competitive itch that science just didn’t scratch. And maybe he had a superiority complex but there was no way he needed Mark to come and solve this particular mystery.

“What was it he said?” He muttered to himself, concentrating now that the memory of Mark talking Tony down the first time had resurfaced, “Hold for four, out and in? Hold for four – no. Hold for four, breathe in. Hold for four, breathe out.” That sounded right.

He shuffled closer, resting his arm around Tony’s shoulders completely as the other man’s head ducked, a bead of sweat forming at his hairline. Its meandering path down his face was frankly lazy compared to the overtime the rest of his body seemed to be putting in.

Adrian had done a little bit of reading immediately after the last event, all too aware now that all the breathing patterns in the world were useless if Tony wouldn’t acknowledge his existence. Having that knowledge was not at all reassuring.

“Tony?” He tried again, lightly shaking the other man’s shoulders. This did nothing except add to the trembling, almost rocking motion that wracked through Tony’s body. He shuffled away again, looking around the office for a moment as if the answer was going to magically appear. He hated feeling incompetent, one step away from wringing his hands together just so he had something to do. 

Instead, he rested the back of his hand against Tony’s forehead, displacing the hairs that had fallen out of their usually regimented style. He wasn’t sure what he expected to garner from this procedure. The other man was an acceptable temperature, slightly above average, which you wouldn’t have predicted, judging from his perpetual shivering.

The action at least preceded his eyes shuttering, something that Adrian was happy enough to consider a step in the right direction. That was uncharacteristically optimistic of the scientist; but he always started counting insignificant progress as victories when he was getting to the end of his tether.

“Tony?” The change hadn’t done anything for Tony’s hearing, it seemed. Mallory sighed, debating the logistics of trawling the base for Mark. Still not an option. “Why isn’t it working without Naird?”

Running out of options, Adrian stood up, briefly considering running away so he couldn’t be accused of being responsible for whatever happened when someone was treated ineffectively for a panic attack for long enough. Surely he’d just start breathing normally out of desperation sooner or later.

Adrian Mallory didn’t like Fuck Tony. That was the narrative, anyway. Out of him and Naird, maybe it was Adrian Tony would come to if he’d messed up or if he needed something. But only because Doctor Mallory had enough on his plate to agree to almost anything if it got Tony out of the lab and far enough away that the cloud of chaos that followed him around wouldn’t mess with the fine-tuning of the equipment. People saw what they wanted to see. If they heard exasperation in Adrian’s voice they read it as frustration and discounted any flicker of fondness they might pick up too. 

Adrian wouldn’t say, even if pushed, which one was more accurate. However, it wasn’t frustration that persuaded him to crouch down, resting one hand on Tony’s knee and using the other to brush his suit sleeve to one side, pressing two fingers against his pulse point. He didn’t need to do this to know it would be fast but feeling its persistence was surprisingly alarming. His hand tightened on Tony's knee, pressing for four and releasing for four. Pressing for four and releasing for four.

The changes were microscopic at first, an easing in the grip Tony had around his own hands, the lines that dug deeply into his face starting to flatten out. It was only then that his breathing followed suit, disrupted occasionally by a stutter, a catch in his throat throwing the pattern off entirely.

“Come on,” Adrian said, partly to himself and largely frustrated as he thought of how much time must have passed. “You’re alright now.” If saying it out loud was meant to make it true, he was obviously losing his touch. Tony was better, but not quite alright.

His pulse settled considerably, still irregular but far from the uncoordinated, excitable jittering that had been pushing against Adrian’s fingers. The older man watched quietly, just about seeing Tony's eyes open, his face mostly in shadow as it was ducked so low. Adrian loosened his grip around the younger man’s wrist, resting both hands against his knees, too engrossed in watching carefully to think to say anything.

Tony’s gaze shifted disjointedly to the hands on his knees, following the arms upwards and settling on Doctor Mallory’s face, a swallowing motion tracking visibly down his throat.

“Are you with me?” Adrian asked, unable to keep a hint of impatience from his voice. It shouldn’t have been impatience; urgency fit better but he could feel his own elevated heart rate and an overwhelming feeling of incompetence. Maybe it was desperation too, a need for Tony to not be catatonic for any longer than he already had been.

Tony’s nod was almost imperceptible but it was there, blending into the slow return of those little twitches that made him responsive, less blank. His upper lip disappeared momentarily, pressed into a thin line as he visibly bit the inside of his mouth. His hands were pressed together still, fingers moving obsessively but with less pressure behind them, his skin slowly reddening where it had been pressed down.

“I thought I’d messed something important up.” It was the first thing he said, accompanied by another duck of his head. Adrian’s hands hadn’t moved – he hadn’t shifted an inch since Tony’s eyes had opened except to breathe, something he was now unusually aware of.

“Thought?” He tried to match the other man’s quiet volume, knowing that he had a habit of sounding snarky regardless of the context.

“Well I hadn’t.” Tony sounded almost normal if you looked past the quiver that undercut everything, so matter of fact.

“So why were you panicking?” Adrian asked, choosing to mimic his abruptness. Tony’s face twitched, his nose wrinkling and mouth stuttering around silent words, searching for an explanation that the doctor would understand. Mallory ignored the voice in his head that said Mark would know; Tony wouldn’t even have to hesitate to explain it to the man who understood better.

“I got worked up about it. There was energy, pent up stress, you know,” Tony replied. He seemed to have got his head around the concept in order to verbalise it. Adrian didn’t have the heart to say he didn’t really know at all. “All of that had to go somewhere.”

“So, there’s nothing to fix?” Adrian clarified. Tony’s half-smile seemed to suggest he caught his drift. No problem to solve that would make all of this go away.

“It doesn’t always work like that,” he muttered, his tone raw when he strayed too close to admitting vulnerability. That was something Adrian could sympathise with; he had a well-stocked resume of experience.

“Sounds rough,” he said, instead of admitting anything. Tony’s next exhalation almost sounded like a laugh. “But it’s not going to happen again? Imminently, I mean.”

“Don’t think so,” Tony said, thinking carefully, “It was just a-” he waved his hands vaguely around his head. Adrian felt like he was two steps behind again. A cloud? A storm? A mess?

“Is it as bad as that often?” He didn’t want to know the answer if it involved Tony admitting he’d sat like that on his own when someone could have been helping. Maybe that someone shouldn’t be Adrian, given how long it took him to fix it. But someone, at least.

“No, I – it took me by surprise,” Tony said, forcing himself to look back at Mallory. “It’s okay now.” His eyes defocused when Adrian raised an eyebrow, clearly not prepared to acknowledge his derision.

“You just sat here with me for almost twenty minutes, who knows how long you were here before then? And now you’re _fine_?” Adrian vocalised his disbelief, just to paint Tony into a corner. He still felt like his defences were up, pushing him to be irrationally angry with the other man.

“Well, not - I’m not going to get like that again,” Tony stumbled over his reassurances, not at all putting Mallory at ease. “Sorry, by the way.” Adrian found himself shaking his head, waving off the apology but choosing not to pursue the reasons behind it.

“You’re not going anywhere until you look less like you’re about to be sick,” he instructed bluntly, refused to get drawn in by the other man’s faintly amused expression. He picked up one of Mark’s magazines that were ‘for decoration’ and settled against the chair, trying to force his eyes to absorb the nonsense words in front of them. His attention swiftly drifted back to the younger man.

“Whatever you say, doc,” Tony murmured, head dropping back against the sofa with an almost luxuriously drawn out breath. His eyes slipped closed but not without his hands moving subtly to rest below his ribs, feeling for the reassuring rise and fall of his chest.

It was hardly a satisfying conclusion, but one that Adrian was content with. A question-dodging, embarrassed Tony was far better than an unresponsive one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the lovely comments on this so far!
> 
> I want to do one more chapter, something similar probably to the first two but I’m open to suggestions if anyone has something they want to see :)


	3. Chapter 3

The first time General Naird found Tony in his office, he walked into the room and was greeted by the sight of Adrian, slumped lazily on the sofa alongside the younger man whose head was tilted back, eyes closed. Mark’s entrance forced Mallory’s attention away from whatever it was he’d been trying to read. Without the shield of the magazine in his hand, it appeared that lazy was the wrong adjective; he met Mark’s questioning expression with a thoughtful frown.

“I’m assuming I’m not so late for a meeting that Tony fell asleep,” the general commented quietly, following Adrian’s lead as the scientist moved away from Tony and sank back down into one of the desk chairs. “Worse?”

“If a total inability to respond for thirty minutes means worse then yes,” Adrian replied measuredly, the hand displacing his glasses as he rubbed the corners of his eyes telling a different story. “I don’t claim to be well-versed in coping techniques for this sort of incident but even my heavy handed attempts shouldn’t be so inefficient, Mark.”

“What do you suggest I do?” Mark asked patiently, waiting to be surprised with an idea that would actually work.

“Get to the bottom of it?” Adrian replied, mustering some of his usual sarcasm and quickly abandoning it again, “Talk to him? Get him to talk to someone else?”

“I can’t wait to see how you expect me to go about doing that,” Naird muttered, more to himself. “This isn’t something that just goes away overnight because you see a doctor about it.”

“I _know_ that,” Adrian retorted frustratedly, careful to keep his voice down. He paused for a moment, seeming to be making a judgement over whether or not Mark really thought he was that clueless. “But surely you agree we aren’t going to get anywhere if he comes in here like that every couple of months whilst continuing to deal with all of the intermittent episodes on his own just because he doesn’t consider them half as bad as what happened today!”

“I’ll make sure he knows that he can come here even if it isn’t so bad,” Mark decided, his half hearted compromise so clearly indicating his position on the fence. Adrian rolled his eyes at the general’s typical response to approaching conversations concerning emotions.

“And he’ll listen to that, I suppose?” He asked, feigning agreement. Mark’s head tilted away from him, eyes trailing towards the ceiling with poorly hidden frustration.

“I don’t see you pushing me out of the way to have that sort of conversation with him,” Mark accused fairly, “Maybe we’re both as bad as each other.”

“Maybe.”

* * *

The second time, Tony walked in unannounced (like normal) talking a mile a minute (like normal), his hands clenched so tightly that his nails were beginning to imprint on his palms (not so normal). His rambling was incoherent, his surprise entrance throwing Naird for a loop and leaving him three steps behind, never quite catching up.

“Slow down,” he interjected eventually, nodding towards the chair in front of his desk in a gesture that Tony ignored in favour of pacing. This was the culmination of three days of restless behaviour provoking glances between the general and Adrian; it made sense he didn’t want to sit down now that it had all boiled over.

“It’s not like he cared about me when I needed him to,” Tony began again at a slower pace, clearly picking up in media res, as if he assumed Naird had deciphered any of his previous gesticulating. Mark frowned, reluctant to cut him off if he was talking about something presumably not work related, not when he’d been hoping they might get there naturally so he wouldn’t have to employ any number of the tactics Mallory had been suggesting. “But either way it’s going to hurt, which sucks.”

“This is your dad we’re talking about?” Naird guessed in one of Tony’s brief pauses for breath, his stab in the dark seeming to pay off. His interruption finally directed Tony’s attention towards him, affording him a view of the wide-eyed expression that occupied the younger man’s face. Despite his usual tendency to go silent, it seemed this was just a different manifestation of the same feelings that triggered his panic. He nodded, looking away again swiftly as if acknowledging that would make Naird turn on him and give a lecture in professionalism. “You two aren’t close?”

Tony huffed out a short laugh on the opposite end of the spectrum to humorous and went back to pacing the carpeted floor.

“Nope,” he replied shortly, popping the ‘p’ sound in his mouth dismissively.

“Were you close when you were younger?” Naird asked again, trying not to make it sound like an interrogation when, in reality, it pretty much was.

“No.” Same reaction.

“Absent father?” Naird guessed, letting the silence ask his next question when Tony shook his head.

“I was child number four,” Tony muttered as if this explained things. “The other three were all halfway through school by the time I turned up. No one has four kids, man. Only if the first or the last was a mistake.”

“Some people have big families,” Naird reasoned tentatively, his focus stuck on the mistake comment although he was reluctant to acknowledge it.

“Well he obviously decided a big family wasn’t for him shortly after I was born then,” Tony replied, the hint of anger in his tone seemingly directed elsewhere. “And anyway, I was just different to the rest of them. I was the one who came along after they decided they didn’t want to upsize the house or the car anymore. They’d gone through the milestones three times already. So no, we weren’t close.”

“It’s not like it was all bad,” he continued, before Naird could say anything to imply the contrary. “I liked school because I could be loud and make people laugh. And then I just had to put up with the yearly ‘is everything alright at home’ conversation. Like clockwork – the day after every parent-teacher conference.”

“Did you tell anyone?” Naird asked hesitantly, wary of repeating this cycle Tony had obviously got used to during school, not wanting to feel like another teacher going through the motions of dealing with an unhappy kid.

“I mean, it wasn’t like they were hitting me or anything,” Tony replied, without really answering. His tone made it pretty clear that he hadn’t though. “By the time I was finishing middle school the rest of my siblings had left home so my parents would go away sometimes in the middle of term. I didn’t like feeling so responsible for everything or being on my own and that’s when all of the-” he waved his hand towards the chair he’d been in the first time he’d had a panic attack in that room “-that stuff started happening.”

“Then my body just adapted to reacting to stress like that and I’d suddenly be getting worked up about assignments or work stuff, you know? And my dad saw it happening a couple of times and dealt with it terribly. Like, worse than Doctor Mallory.” Naird’s mouth twitched very slightly as he continued. “But he’s old now, obviously. And we hadn’t talked for ages but now he’s acting like we need to spend some time together.” The unspoken ‘before it’s too late’ hung weightily in the silence.

“What are you going to do?” Naird asked automatically, spending the pause that followed berating himself for vocalising the very question that had obviously left Tony in this state.

“Not sure,” he replied, less bothered by the question than Mark had anticipated. “I just don’t get it. My dad’s never been a big, positive part in my life. If I didn’t get that, why do I have to be so affected by all of this negative stuff now?”

“He probably hasn’t even thought about all that,” Naird suggested with a shrug, “There’s an expectation that your kids will look after you when you get old. I think some parents forget that they’re meant to do the same for their children while they can. More kids than you’d expect in the armed forces have had similar experiences.”

“I’ll think about it,” Tony decided eventually, already heading for the door.

“You’re going to be alright?” Mark checked cautiously. Tony suddenly looked as if he’d been caught abusing the offer Naird had extended to him.

“Yeah, sorry. Sometimes I can’t get anything done if I don’t get some stuff out of my head,” he rambled, finding himself having to justify his appearance in the office.

“Don’t worry about it,” Naird reassured him, “The offer still stands, like it always will do.”

* * *

The third time ended in an argument. The panic had subsided quicker than normal, not tiring Tony out to a point where he would tolerate a bit of support without questioning it. What came next preoccupied Naird so much that he forgot what had triggered it all in the first place.

“Are you okay?” He checked like he always did, unaccustomed to seeing Tony continue to fidget after his breathing slowed.

“Do I look okay?” Tony retorted, scraping a hand over his face and muffling his words. “Fuck.”

Just take a minute, keep breathing,” Naird chose to ignore his sarcastic tone but backed off when he received a glare in response, even though the strength of the look was weakened somewhat by the younger man’s pale appearance. He moved back around to the other side of the desk, appraising Tony from a distance. “What was it this time?”

“Nothing important,” Tony replied swiftly.

“No?” Naird pressed cautiously, wincing when the question only made Tony’s expression stormier. 

“I don’t - it’s not - you’re my boss, sir,” Tony eventually said, taking some time to settle on an appropriate response. Naird considered the choices he’d discarded.

I don’t _know_. I don’t _want to talk about it._

It’s not _important_. It’s not _fair_.

“And as your employer I have a responsibility over your wellbeing,” Mark retorted easily, sitting down opposite him. “I didn’t offer you this space because I just wanted you to replace wherever it is you go to when you normally get like this.”

“I’ll go back to using those places then,” Tony bit back wearily, rubbing his face until the skin beneath his hands flushed pink.

“That’s not what I meant,” Mark replied frustratedly, “Come on, Tony. We got somewhere last time.”

“Only because I was in the sort of mood where I needed to word vomit,” Tony argued, “And you kept asking questions.”

“And yet you chose to come here, knowing that I would do that,” Mark reasoned with another drawn out sigh.

“I don’t want to do this right now,” Tony said quietly, his usual fatigue finally showing up. This was what set this Tony apart from any normal day; he didn’t insist on pushing every disagreement to its increasingly absurd conclusion. On this occasion, he was the extreme version of cutting things short. “Let’s just agree to not address it next time you see me.”

Naird opened his mouth to disagree with the idea, pausing when Tony looked at him with a silently imploring expression. He reset his resolve, knowing it would only crumble under one condition.

“Please?”

They didn’t talk about it again.

* * *

The fourth time it happened, well…

“Fuck Tony’s here to see you,” Brad said, looking up from what looked suspiciously like a crossword. “He’s been waiting for a while.”

“Why didn’t you tell him I’d be gone until the middle of the afternoon?” Mark asked helplessly, watching the other man perk up like a meerkat watching for predators.

“I did, sir. Exactly as you asked,” he replied proudly, nodding his head towards the office door, “He said he’d wait.” 

The warning signs were all there. Asking Brad before he even entered the office. Not taking advantage of the time he had to wait in order to berate the one-star general. Mark made a quick decision.

“I don’t think I need anything else from you today so you can leave early, Brad,” he offered, hoping that this gesture wouldn’t reinforce the usual negligent behaviour Brad had managed to accidentally slip into like normal.

“At 4 o’clock, sir?” Brad asked surprisedly.

“It’s Friday,” Mark justified with a weak shrug. Luckily the older man didn’t need much more encouragement.

Tony was stood at the window, his tie and suit jacket discarded at various intervals along the route from the door to his position leaning in front of the glass. He was tilted so that he could rest his forehead on the window, eyes closed but shoulders rising and falling calmly.

General Naird picked up the two items of clothing and draped them over the back of one of the many chairs he seemed to have in surplus around the room before joining him. His silhouette cast a slight shadow over the glass and Tony’s head tilted to acknowledge him.

“You were right,” he said, his voice a little rough.

“As the head of the base I think I’m always right by default but I’m looking forward to hearing what’s finally made you admit it,” Naird replied, following suit as Tony’s mouth twitched into a ghost of a smile.

“The view,” he muttered, nodding his head towards the window, “Not too bad.”

“It’s pretty great,” Mark agreed, wary of the last time they’d been like this in his office. It seemed best to leave Tony to steer the conversation. For the moment, the younger man veered off towards silence.

“Erin’s a lucky kid,” he commented suddenly, his eyes back on the horizon, moving up and down to cut out the skyline of dunes and mountains as he scanned across them. “You’ve brought her up well.”

“I’ve made my fair share of mistakes,” Mark replied in what he thought to be a fair assessment of his own parenting ability. The missteps had multiplied following Maggie’s incarceration, their situation suddenly throwing him into conversations he’d normally have allowed her to handle.

“Nah, she’s lucky,” Tony repeated emphatically. “She’s got a good dad. Considering everything that’s happened, she could be way more messed up.”

“Very reassuring,” Mark muttered, appreciating the sentiment nonetheless. Tony’s mouth flickered upwards, seeming to shoot higher but land on a sad smile. Mark watched him for a moment. “Is this what today’s about? Your dad?”

“No, I-” Tony hesitated slightly, suddenly fixing his gaze on the general as if he needed to see his exact reaction. “I’ve got an appointment after work. With a – a therapist.”

“That’s good,” Mark replied, keeping his voice level but internally celebrating as if they’d just successfully launched a rocket.

“Yeah, Doctor Mallory suggested it,” Tony explained, fiddling with the cuff-links on his shirt sleeves. Mark felt his eyebrows shoot up. He remembered their conversation the first time he’d found Tony in the office, how they’d both shied away from trying to intervene. It seemed the other man had quietly got on with his own ideas behind the scenes.

“Do you want a lift?” Mark offered tentatively.

“In the helicopter?” Tony asked suspiciously, flashes of his last experience in what he had since labelled the death machine reflected in the widening of his eyes.

“I do own a car,” Mark said with an amused frown. Tony relaxed, nodding hesitantly.

“It would force me to actually turn up,” he reasoned weakly, “I’ve cancelled twice this week already.”

“Well, that is one thing we can change,” Mark replied firmly, reassured by Tony’s wider smile.

“Thanks, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Evs_Ash for giving me an idea for where to take this :)))
> 
> It was going to be way more angsty but kind of became fluff at the end which is a first for me XD

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly did not expect these characters to get so stuck in my head but here we are, turning a suggestion for a drabble into a three part story XD
> 
> I want to do a couple of follow-ups where Tony takes Mark up on his offer of using the office. Haven’t written them yet so we'll see what happens :p


End file.
